viva las vegas
by onlywordsnow
Summary: addison and mark connect in vegas one last time before she moves to la
1. fairytales of yesterday will grow

**viva las vegas [elvis]; mark/addison (mark, addison); r (and maybe NC-17); 1,823 words;**

**au; grey's anatomy season 3; seattle/las vegas; chpt 1; fairytales of yesterday will grow but never die - (the show must go on) queen**

**addison and mark connect in vegas one last time before she moves to la**

**a/n: i am currently in vegas and it's awesome and i want to write something of this place and here we go, an au for the end of season 3**

* * *

It takes everything in her to walk down that narrow hallway from her hotel room to his and the walls seem to be closing in on her with every step. Although her heels echo on the carpet and bounce off of the walls, she still doesn't really hear the noise – not in its entirety because she has tunnel vision. She keeps playing in her head over and over again the ways this could go like she can really predict his reaction; she knows that she really can't.

She knows that whatever she's thinking is inaccurate, that he won't really smirk and rub in her face any mistakes they made when she informs him that she can't have kids. He isn't Derek. Surprisingly she can't gauge their responses towards her the same no matter how alike they are.

She just wonders how relevant to him that he will find her news, or if he'll just simply tell her that he's sorry about her bad luck and move on. The problem is that she doesn't know because she can't determine where their relationship is currently standing, if they are friends or if either of them holds any kind of resentment. Addison just finds the entire situation disheartening and doesn't know how Mark will react because they aren't the same people they were a year ago. She doesn't even know if they could be if they were to try. Their problem has always been that neither of them knows what page they are on, even if they happen to be on the same page.

She wavers in front of his door, toes of her Jimmy Choo's tapping against the thinning carpet and she lets her mind momentarily get distracted by the tangent thought of the hotel needing to replace the carpets. She chews at her bottom lip because the distraction doesn't really work and there's a truth to the fact that she obsesses over things beyond her control – something that Mark pointed out years ago but her husband never bothered to say aloud. It takes everything in her to rap her knuckles against the heavy door of his hotel room, toying with the consideration that he may not even be there; she thinks that it's probably just wishful thinking.

Her breathing rattles her chest as she waits for him to answer the door and she counts to a firm three (1 2 3, no space to breathe between the numbers) before deciding that he isn't there. Just as she takes a timid step backwards, the door swings open and his lips ease into a smile of relief. She forgets how to breathe because he's looking at her with a smile and twinkle in her eye but she can't return the sentiment.

"Hey, did you just get back?" He asks, crossing his arms in front of his chest and leaning against the doorframe; he's in her space now and she really doesn't remember how to breathe.

"Yep. Bags are still packed and I came straight over to see you," she replies shakily.

He smirks, "I'm not going to be your booty call."

"Actually, I need to tell you something," she counters with a weak smile. His smile quickly fades and he tilts his head in response. She can read the look on his face, the one saying that he doesn't understand but he'd truly give her anything that she wants. "Can I come in?"

"Of course," he says, motioning for her to come in, "want a drink?"

The door clicks shut from behind her and she nearly jumps out of her skin. She ignores his teasing laugh and the way his fingertips touch the small of her back like he used to when he would comfort her with his actions rather than his words. She offers him a weak smile and a nod as her answer as she sits in a chair beside the table; the tumbler suctions the alcohol to the sides as he pours it and the silence reminds her of the comfort they used to have. Even then, she's pretty sure that she needs a lot of alcohol to steady her nerves enough to tell him that everything they almost had was her last chance.

She almost thinks that if he consoles her, she can quit feeling so much guilt.

He hands her a glass in his hand and sits on the bed across from her with his own glass. She takes a long drink, longer than she normally would when drinking scotch, and focuses on the burn in the back of her throat rather than every thought that has been haunting her for the last few days. She swallows and offers him a tight smile that she knows he doesn't fall for when his lips slightly part and his eyes widen a bit.

"Everything okay, Red?" He asks, voice gruff in the silence of the room.

She takes another drink before she lifts her eyes to his; "I can't have kids."

"Oh," he mutters. His eyebrows furrow as he swallows and the silence falls between them again. For a long time there isn't any other sound then the faint echo of their breaths meeting the air in the space between them. She drops her eyes from his frame, lets them trace the circular shape of the glass rim encasing the amber liquid. He drags his tongue over his lips to wet them and looks at her with a quiet disdain. "Does Derek know?"

"No," she answers gently. She smirks a little and offers him a side glance. She lifts her glass to her mouth and takes a sip. "I didn't think he'd care."

"I'm sure he'd care. We've always been the same in that respect – that we care about you," Mark retorts, "nothing really changes that."

"It doesn't affect him. He and I didn't have kids together. We never will. I just thought you should know," she replies. She downs the rest of her glass and pushes herself to her feet, balancing on her heels despite how thin they are. She lightly shakes her head and buries her hands in her pockets to keep her hands busy. "I wanted you to know so that you can stop hating me for taking that away from the both of us. Or don't. Whatever. Just know that you can still have kids if you want them and I can't."

She releases a heavy hearted sigh and steps towards the door so that she can leave, but he catches her by the wrist before she can get passed the foot of the bad. He purses his lips together, a thin line gracing his face as he slowly lifts his eyes to hers. He lightly shakes his head, his mouth falling open but no words coming out. She watches him swallow, his Adam's Apple bouncing in his throat.

"I didn't want a baby, Addison, not without you," he explains. His eyes fall from her again, not knowing what is passing between them as his fingertips seem to tighten around her wrist. He doesn't know the hold he has on her, the way she can't really move forward because they are so deeply entwined despite the way she's attempted to separate herself from him. "I just wanted you."

"Do you think we'd be happy?" She asks.

He sighs, "I don't know. I'd like to think we would. Do you think we would?"

"I think we'd be tired," she replies. She tilts her head and brushes a loose strand of hair behind her ear, more out of nervousness than because it's in her way. She bites at her lip, her teeth pulling at the dry tissue on them with ease until she can taste blood. "We'd have a baby, almost one now, and we'd be tired but I think we'd be happy. If we could fix our problems, we'd be so very happy."

"You're probably right," he absently agrees. He's never understood their problems but he accepts that they exist; he finally releases her arm so she can leave if she wants to. He can't imagine why she'd stay – it isn't like she could possibly want to hash this out now. Not after finding out she'll never be a mother. "I wasn't ready for any of it, but that doesn't mean I didn't want to be."

"Mark," she starts, but stops herself; "you wanted to piss farther than Derek, that's all. You didn't want me or a baby, you just wanted to one up him."

"It wasn't like that, believe it or not. It was never about Derek. It was just about you," he admits, "but that doesn't matter anymore. I love – d you but I couldn't get my head straight. I fucked up, I know that."

"I fucked up too, Mark. If we hadn't made the mistakes we'd made we would be a family. We'd have a little girl, red hair with your blue eyes and your nose," she replies lightly, "she'd have your smile and it would get her into trouble when she got older. She would be a handful."

"Nah," he disagrees, "she'd look like you but we would still be in trouble."

"Either way," she says with a shrug. She pushes her hand into his hair, lets her thumb wipe at his jawline as she traces his features so that she can remember how he looks. She isn't sure that memories will be enough, pictures of them as they got older and the moments they shared after Derek left. "I'm moving to Los Angeles."

"That's too bad, Red. I'm going to miss you," he says, his voice momentarily going hoarse. He clears his throat, trying to cover up the fact that after moving across the country to finally be with her that he'll never get the chance; he forces a smirk on his face to keep any tears from falling. Her fingertips are cold on his skin but it feels like his flesh is burning beneath her touch. "Maybe we should try to leave it on a good note."

"Oh yeah? What did you have in mind?" She asks teasingly.

He pushes himself to his feet and grins, leaning forward and pressing his lips to hers with ease. He's always liked it better when she doesn't push him away, even though the movement catches her by surprise. The moments between them always seems so simple and familiar, the ones that he kisses her and she doesn't push him away. Simply because their relationship, no matter what kind, has been about chaste kisses that convey very little and actually mean a lot and about the quiet connection they've always had – she knows that when she leaves it won't be the same anymore and she wants to embrace it one last time.

He tilts his head a little, "we should go to Vegas."

"Okay," she says; she can see the surprise on his face barely mixed with delight.


	2. with every mistake we must surely

**viva las vegas [elvis]; mark/addison (mark, addison); nc-17; 3,374 words;**

**au; grey's anatomy season 3; seattle/las vegas; chpt 2; with every mistake we must surely be learning - (while my guitar gently weeps) the beatles**

**addison and mark connect in vegas one last time before she moves to la**

**a/n: i am currently in vegas and it's awesome and i want to write something of this place and here we go, an au for the end of season 3**

* * *

Mark smirks as he approaches the hotel clerk of the Paris Las Vegas Hotel and Casino, hoping that they can still get a decent room at last minute. They don't have a reservation and they boarded the last plane from Seattle to Vegas on an impulse decision to end whatever kind of relationship they've ever had on a good note and so far it seems to be filled with reminiscing and laughs despite their heavy moment before they left. Their actions and reactions seem to be the way they were in New York, before the affair and before their mistakes; they are comfortable and as he waits in line behind 2 different families he feels her slide her arm through his.

"One room or two?" He asks with a suggestive eyebrow raise.

She smirks and absently toys with a loose thread at the sleeve of his jacket, "we're adults, Mark. I'm pretty sure that we can share a bed."

"Because that's never gotten us into trouble before," he counters with a wink. He feels her hand slide into his back pocket and he lurches forward with furrowed eyebrows. He looks at her, mouth agape, and lightly shakes his head; she laughs as she pinches his wallet in her grasp. "You better stop that – hey! What are you doing?"

"While you get the room, I'm going to use your money to gamble," she explains.

The echo of machines going off surrounds them and he concedes under the grin on her face accompanied with a glint in her eye. It isn't fair that she has power over him, but then again he seems to have a power over her. They are so very bad for each other but something keeps drawing them back together. She plucks a one hundred dollar bill out of his wallet and hands him the black, leather holder back. He lights shakes his head as he pushes the bags further up on his shoulders and moves up in line.

Of course she was going to use his money to entertain herself.

He briefly wonders if they are here as friends or if they're testing out a friends with benefits scenario, all he knows is that they seem to fall together over and over. On one hand, he gets why she is moving to Los Angeles but on the other it doesn't mean that he still hopes that he factors into her decisions somewhere. It isn't like he ever has, really, especially since he lied and told her that he broke the bet when he never did. He wishes he could tell her the truth, that if she didn't want to be with him then she didn't have to be, but he thinks that she'll be mad at him for telling her that he broke the bet so she didn't have to feel guilty.

He smiles at the clerk as he finally steps up to the counter, "one room, best view you have."

"That's our Suite Calais, six hundred dollars a night," the young guy replies.

"That's no trouble. See that woman over there? If I play my cards right, I might be getting laid this weekend and trust me when I say it's been a very long time. Two months is a long time for a guy like me," Mark glances at Addison over his shoulder about three paces behind him and turns his full attention to the guy behind the counter. The guy purses his lips and Mark can tell the guy doesn't know how to response because he clearly didn't get the joke. Mark laughs a little deep into the bellows of his throat as he hears Addison's heels echo against the tile; her arms slide around his waist from behind and he thinks he maybe has some kind of an idea as to what kind of weekend they might be having. "I'm kidding."

Mark slides his credit card over the counter and receives two room keys in return. He shakes his head as she grabs two drinks on the way to the elevator and thrusts one in his direction. He downs it quickly, whatever it is, and sets it on a table as they walk by; he can tell that he's going to need a lot of alcohol to understand this weekend at all. Even that might not help.

His head swirls a little as he steps onto the elevator, her fingertips sliding just below the hem of his sweater and teasing the skin just above his waistline. He inhales a deep breath, thankful that they only have one small carryon bag each that he can easily get on his own, and shifts his gaze in her direction. He takes a moment to feel relief that there are other people in the elevator with her or else he'd probably have her pressed against the wall right now.

"Would you stop it?" He asks quietly.

She smirks, "why is that?"

"You know why," he counters.

"Maybe I'm asking for it."

"It certainly seems like it," he observes. She takes her straw between her lips and sips on her drink. He can't help the way he leans a little more into her when she does, his fingers sliding over the small of her back en route to her hip on the opposite side of him. She briefly glances at him, leaning more into him as if encouraging him. "You should know better by now."

She smirks and the last couple steps out of the elevator so they're in it alone. The moment the doors slide closed he turns on his heel and presses her against the wall, his lips blindly finding hers out of habit. Their bags hit the floor before his fingers slide into her hair and her arms secure around his neck. Her nearly empty glass drops the remaining liquid down his back and neither stop to acknowledge it.

His tongue rolls over her bottom lip, probing her mouth to part open so he can push his tongue against hers. Slowly, she opens her mouth beneath his and the fingers of her left hand press into his the back of his neck while she clutches her glass with her other hand. Her knee runs up his inner thigh, his growing erection hitting her knee cap, and he smiles against her mouth. His hands slide down her frame and his thumbs press into her hips in preparation to lift her up when the elevator dings on their floor.

She laughs and mutters against his lips, "saved by the bell."

"We can resume this when we get inside," he muses, pressing his body into hers a little bit longer for affect before he steps away and picks the bags up.

"We could," she replies.

He can't tell if she wants to or if she's just saying it to tease him. He's afraid to ask for fear that he'll hear something that he doesn't really want to hear. All he knows is that the length of her dress isn't nearly enough and he hates how no matter who else in the room his eyes always find her first. She doesn't get how intoxicating she is and he doesn't know if she gets that he'll miss it.

He pushes open the hotel room door and lets her enter first, flipping on the lights as he enters and watching the room light up before them. She sets her glass on the nearest table and advances further into the room; he feels a little lost because she's been so easy to read for as long as he can remember but right now she isn't. It's always left him in distress when he can't read her like she's an open book, especially when he knows he's getting to her but he can't tell how much.

"So did you," he starts but trails off, deciding to follow her further into the room and drop the bags at the foot of the bed.

"What?" She probes, turning to face him with a small smirk.

He tilts his head in response, lightly shaking his head. He doesn't know how to answer her, how to continue, because he doesn't really know what's okay to say and what isn't. All that he knows is that at the airport they kissed like they were lovers, in the airplane they laughed like they had inside jokes, in the cab she teased him like she wanted him, downstairs she touched him like he belonged to her, and in the elevator she made it clear that she wants something from him. But now that they are alone, he's a bit afraid that he'll push her to do too much too fast because he simply doesn't know how to stop himself when it comes to her.

"Nothing," he approaches her and pushes his fingers into the small of her back, "look at the view."

"Don't blow your wad too soon," she teases.

He narrows his eyes at her double entendre before he laughs the question of whether she's suggesting that he should or warning him that she shouldn't on the tip of his tongue. She leans against him when the full view of the lit up Eiffel Tower replica takes her breath away and the busy streets below don't even seem to faze her. They're used to New York and how the city never sleeps, the noise something that won't keep either of them from sleeping at night.

"Is there some reason you wanted to come to Vegas?" She asks him, teasing the last word.

"Remember that weekend we spent in Atlantic City?" He asks, waiting for her nod that tells him she remembers, "I felt like even though Derek didn't show up, we still made the best of it."

"You're just saying that because you got laid that weekend," she teases.

"Something like that," he agrees.

He thinks that she gets what he's alluding to. That it was the first weekend since their affair started that they didn't have to hide anything, they could be together however they wanted. She gets it because they were both blissfully happy considering that in their world neither of them was happy. He wants to recapture that, even if it means that they aren't together.

"Maybe if you play your cards right, you could get laid this weekend too," she replies suggestively.

He smirks, pushes his fingers into her hips when she turns to face him. Her fingertips tap at his jawbone before grasping the lapels of his jacket and pushing his coat off of his shoulders. He releases the contact and hears his leather jacket collide with the floor, a gentle thud sounding out. His fingertips brush over her skin just below where the hem of her dress stops.

He pulls upward, his fingers curled and taking the material with his movement. He waits for her to shake her head, to tell him no in some way but she slides her hand through the hair at the nape of his neck in response. His nails scrape at her skin, index finger circling her inner thigh. He grins slightly as she leans forward and presses her lips to his, his mouth sliding against hers at first touch.

He moves his hand further inward, fingers grasping at the skin between her thighs. His index finger slides against her skin between her leg and her pelvic region, the material of her panties catching on his nail. She sighs against his mouth as he drags his hand back towards the space between them, his teeth nipping at the corners of her mouth. His other hand slides beneath her dress, pulling it more up her body as his fingers tap against her torso before sliding around to the skin at the small of her back.

"Did anybody ever tell you that the length of your dresses is very distracting?" He mutters against her mouth; he leads her towards the bed.

The back of her knees hit the mattress, "there was once a guy who said that. He had a thing for redheads."

His finger slips beneath the lining of her panties and dips into her center, a sharp intake of breath at the sudden movement slicing against his mouth when she breathes in. He claws at her hip, pushes at her bone until he can tug at her panties. The material scratches at her legs as he tugs downward; his tongue touches hers briefly before he pulls back and slides his lips along her jaw. His teeth nip at her neck, tongue swirls against her skin and his lips suction her flesh in unison.

She nearly squeaks her warning and he pulls back with a grin; "Doctor Sloan, don't do it."

He laughs as he guides her back onto the bed, his mouth covering hers again just briefly. His fingertips feel for her opening again, dipping into her wetness with ease. The base of his finger glides over her clit, pulling his finger back out and circling it. He feels her moan just below his ear, the sound escaping her lips hot on his ear.

He pulls back and leans down, his hands sliding down her thighs as he lowers his mouth to her. His fingers delve into her as he flattens his tongue against her bundle of nerves, causing her to buck her hips at the contact. His freehand circles her calf and brings it up to his shoulder – it prompts her to move, her ankles flush against the back of his neck.

He slides his tongue against her, index finger being joined by his middle finger as they slide into her wetness and back out. He pumps his fingers in and out, his teeth scraping over her clit as he sucks. He pulls his fingers out, sticky as he presses his hand against her thigh, and dips his tongue into her. His nose rubs against her bundle of nerves, the coldness of his breath against her warmth making a chill skate up her spine.

Her legs tighten to pull him closer and he laughs against her, his tongue circling inside of her before he pulls it back up to her clit. He pushes his fingers into her again, pumping in and out as his erection presses more against his thigh and he grinds his middle against the foot of the bed without meaning to. Her sighs and moans encourage him to pick up speed, his fingers and tongue working together to bring her to an orgasm.

Her legs tighten, the heels of her shoes digging into his shoulder blades, her knuckles turn white as she grasps at the sheet. He groans against her, the noise vibrating inside of her and being just enough for her muscles to contract around his fingers. His chest rises and falls quickly as his hands press into her upper thighs and his fingers grasp at her flesh. He drops to sit on the floor as he catches his breath, lifting his eyes to hers and laughing a little when she offers him a smile.

"I got mine," she says.

"Hey now," he retorts with a light shake of the head, "that isn't very nice."

"Tell you what," she replies, leaning forward and hovering her lips over his, "you beat me at cards and I'll finish you off."

"And here I thought we were getting along so well," he counters.

"It's a long weekend," she teases. He narrows his eyes in her direction and releases a slightly exaggerated breath, lightly shaking his head at her teasing manner. His dick throbs in his pants against his leg and he lifts up a hand indicating that he needs a few moments to contain himself. She smirks, "that is, of course, unless you finish yourself off first before I can get to you."

"Please," he replies, lips turning into a frown as he looks at her deadpanned, "you don't have to be such a tease."

"Since when?" She asks with a playful shrug.

He growls at her and shakes his head, watching her with a narrowed gaze as she sneaks off to the bathroom before he can even get to his feet. He pushes himself to his feet and sits on the side of the bed, shaking his hands at his wrists in an attempt to distract himself and make his erection disappear. He points a finger at her when she finally comes out of the bathroom, looking refreshed and offering him a smile. He drags his fingers through her hair as he picks up his bag and goes into the bathroom.

He brushes his teeth as well as uses mouthwash, wills his erection away (at least so it doesn't throb so much), and changes his shirt before he leaves the bathroom. He forces a smile on his face when he sees her. He pushes his hands into his hips and scrunches his nose when she returns the smile. She briefly presses her lips against his as she walks by him, asking if he has the room key before opening the door and stepping out of the room. He doesn't know if he can handle her being this way, although endearing, driving him crazy.

In the elevator she stands close to him because there are a few other people on it as well, but when she slides her fingers up his spine his gaze sharply cuts to her. He warns her with narrowed eyes but she just laughs and presses her lips to his. He opens his mouth under hers as his eyes drift closed. She pulls away too soon and his eyes open again, a small sigh escaping him when her lips are no longer against his.

He wonders if she's only doing it to drive him crazy or if she has other reasons.

"You better stop," he warns. He leans towards her but is met with her hand pressing against his chest. He grunts and drags a hand through his hair, the rest of the elevator silent besides them. He offers the guy beside him a small smile as Addison slips her fingers just below the hem of his sweater to tap against his back. He turns his attention back to her; "you're driving me crazy, woman. Stop it."

"You're kind of cute when you're flustered," she comments with a laugh.

"You're doing this on purpose and it isn't nice," he counters, "give me my money back."

She smirks and pulls a hundred dollar bill out of her bra; he rolls his eyes in response. He snatches his money but feels her fingernails trail over his skin. The small hairs on his skin stand upright and he inhales a deep breath. He pushes his arm around her in a rush, fingers digging into her waist when his forearm presses against her back. He's barely able to stop himself from guiding her lips to his.

"Sorry," she says to someone glancing over their shoulder, "he doesn't get out much."

"Don't lie. You just don't know how to play nice," he corrects.

He forces himself to think of ugly things before his erection can come back, not that he isn't usually able to control himself in public anyway. The elevator stops at the bottom floor where the casino is and he follows her onto the floor just a few steps behind. He tries to regulate his breathing as they make it to a Texas Hold 'Em table where they often spent most of their time back when they were young.

They each buy in with two hundred dollars and get settled in with their drinks. She offers him a side glance and can't help but smirk as they each put their chips onto the table. His knee rubs against hers as she scoots her chair a bit closer to his so that someone else can sit down on the chair on the other side of her.

He narrows his eyes, "why do you keep looking at me like that?"

"Because," she says, tucks her bottom lip into her mouth briefly, "I know you didn't break the bet."

He laughs and drops his eyes to the table, the dealer's facial expression showing the confusion; "we've been gambling for a long time."


End file.
